


Boys on The Radio

by akire_yta



Category: Bandom, Disney RPF, Skippy - Fandom
Genre: AU, Families you make, M/M, pirate radio
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-24
Updated: 2013-09-27
Packaged: 2017-12-27 18:19:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/982110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akire_yta/pseuds/akire_yta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every Saturday night, every teenager in town tuned into Radio Freedom. Mike’s their biggest fan, and that was before he met their star DJ. Otherwise known as the pirate-radio AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the So Damn Skippy Xmas Ficathon 2010 for la_fours, who asked for “I love angst. It's a bit of an issue. Kevin being rejected and finding a home with the FBR crew. I LOVE AU's, preferably of the high school or college variety. Angsty high school/college fic is my absolute crack. With happy endings of course (or at very least bittersweet, but happy for Mike/Kevin). Oh and top!Kevin intrigues me.” Would you believe I failed at angst? High-school AU with h/c overtones and boys being boys  
> A/N: I have to confess, the original idea came from allyndra’s KJ’s [birthday post](http://community.livejournal.com/sodamnskippy/82723.html?style=mine). I made off with it like a bandit in the night, and it kinda took over this prompt :D Thanks to starflowers for beta-reading and whip-cracking and mizubyte for handholding. All remaining mistakes are mine. Title from Hole’s Boys on the Radio.  
> Music: I maybe might have made a mix tape of the songs mentioned [over here](http://verbosemofo.livejournal.com/32026.html) /cough.

* * *

Mike closed the door and raced over to his radio as the hands ticked past the hour. The face of the radio glowed, and Mike fidgeted with the tuning knob for a second, until the familiar plunk of guitar strings was loud and clear through the speakers. The brief jingle faded, and a warm voice, familiar and trusted, flowed out of the speakers. "Hey kids and fake grown ups, hipsters and hillbillies, don't touch that dial. I'm DJ PK, and I'll be hanging out with you for the next couple of hours. What say we share some music and hope the cops don't figure out where to raid. For those just joining us, this is Radio Freedom, broadcasting live from our secret bunker where the man can't get us, and this is one of my favourite Soulstice numbers to help cruise our way out of the weekend."

Mike slumped down onto the threadbare rug covering the floorboards, lying back with his arms folded behind his head and his eyes closed, and let the music take him away.

He stayed up late, listening to ever last second of DJ PK's broadcast, until he handed over to DJ PS around ten. When Mike jerked awake, it was almost dawn, and the radio was broadcasting nothing but static.

He must have dozed back off to sleep again, because he finally woke for good when his mother started yelling up the stairs about him being late for school.

Mike slouched through the main school doors just as the warning bell was ringing. Deliberately slowing down even more, Mike swaggered down the corridors. He nodded at Sisky as Sisky pushed off the bank of lockers and fell into step beside him. "Hey man," Sisky said. "Did you catch Freedom last night?"

Mike nodded. "Of course. Some good new stuff.”

Sisky nodded agreement. "I taped it, think I got most of it. Wanna head into town after school and see if we can find any of them?"

Mike nodded, trying not to seem too eager. But PK and PS, who tag-teamed in and out on the weekend shifts on the pirate station, always had the most eclectic playlists. Mike often wondered who they were - hipsters slumming it at the station, or maybe a they were from the university campus a few towns over? Whoever they were, they were lucky they didn't have to schlep to first period math on a Monday morning in this bumfuck high school in the middle of bumfuck, nowheresville.

A kid with curly hair and bad taste in brightly patterned shirts almost ran into them as he skidded around the corner, running for class. "Sorry," he muttered, not even looking up.

Mike gave him a gentle shove and the kid skittered around them. Sisky barely glanced at him. "If they don't have anything, my brother's heading into the City next week, we could give him a list...." he babbled as they headed off to class.

* * *

Kevin really hated high school. He’d been late getting in after the show, having got caught up talking mid-week music runs with Greta, and had barely beaten his family back again. One of these days, he was going to screw up and get caught. He’d spent half the night trying to figure out a better way of getting out to the bunker and back again, and had only drifted off around dawn.

He’d missed the bus, and his mother had grumbled and scolded the entire trip to school. Joe and Nick were still sleeping; they were home-schooled while the theatre season was running, lucky them. Kevin tuned his mother out and half-dozed all the way in. “Kevin!” she snapped.

Kevin blinked, jolting awake. They had pulled up in the parking lot. “Yeah,” he mumbled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

She peered at him, frustration melding with concern. “You okay, Kevin?” she asked, reaching out to brush his hair off his face.

Kevin batted her away automatically -- he’d not had a shower last night, and his hair was a greasy mess that she’d no doubt complain about too.

She just smiled sadly. “You grow up so fast,” she murmured. “Don’t miss the bus,” she warned as he slipped out of the car. “I need to take Nick in early for some costume adjustments, so we won’t be home this afternoon. I’ll leave dinner in the fridge.” Kevin nodded without really listening and slammed the car door shut. The warning bell rang as he scurried up the stairs.

He was so fucking late.

* * *

The week dragged by, until finally Saturday rolled around again. Mike did his chores, helped his mother with the groceries (the only chore he picked; if he didn't go she'd come back with oatmeal rather than Captain Krunch) and killed time until 6pm when Chiz and Butcher pulled up outside his house and honked the horn.

"Hey," he said as he slid into the backseat next to Sisky.

"Rumour has it," Chiz said, twisting in his seat. "That there’s a special broadcast on Freedom tonight."

Mike's brow furrowed. "But DJ PK's still on, right?" he asked, a little knot twisting up his stomach. Knowing he could crash out, in Butcher's car or on the floor of his room, and listen to PK spin disks and put words around what Mike was feeling were what made the week bearable.

Chiz shrugged. "Fucked if I know. We'll just have to tune in."

Sisky leaned over into the front seat, earning a mild curse from Butcher as he batted away Sisky’s flailing elbow. "Are they broadcasting anything yet?" he asked, reaching for the dials.

* * *

Kevin was antsy, wandering the house from room to room, trying not to get in the way of everyone trying to get ready all at once. Greta’s panicked call giving him the heads up about what was going on had left him on edge; it was going to be tough to get back in time, he risked getting busted, but it was Saturday.

So many people tuned in on a Saturday. They couldn’t broadcast dead air.

Kevin grudgingly accepted a kiss goodbye from his mother, waved them off, and closed and locked the front door behind him. He was already over the back fence before his parents were out the driveway.

* * *

Mike knew they would wind up, like every Saturday, in the parking lot behind the furniture store at the end of Main Street. The gravel crunched under their tires as they rolled into the lot. When Butcher cut the engine, Mike could hear half a dozen conversations, and the smell of pot and takeout wafted in through the open window.

He wandered around the cars that had already pulled up, chatting to the people who were okay, merely nodding to acknowledge the presence of the cool crowd. This town was too small for the high school clichés to have separate hangouts, but there were boundaries all the same. Under it all, threading it together, was the hiss of static of a dozen radios tuned to the ether.

Mike was on perched on the edge of the hood of Butcher's car when the static cracked and the music started. The knot untangled slightly as the notes formed into the familiar guitar piece, and he laid back as the music faded. "Hey there, hangers on and dreamers, I'm DJ PK, and I'll be keeping you company all the night long. DJ PS is doing stuff that if I told you about would probably be enough to identify him to local law enforcement, so let's just say he's taking a walk on the wildside. So if you can bear it, grin at the stars and settle in as I take you on a musical odyssey that ends who knows where. Let's get tonight started right. Here's the Pogues with _Bottle of Smoke_."

The metal of the hood was still warm under his back, the drawing night air chill on his chest. Mike tuned out all the people around him, closed his eyes, and listened.

DJ PK's voice was hoarse and gravelly as the clocks ticked over to midnight. "That's our broadcasting evening, my darling creatures of the night," PK rumbled into the speakers, low and easy. "Be good to each other, love freely, and remember, life's too short to listen to bad music. Peace." The guitars faded out into static.

"Come on, man," Butcher said as the lot slowly cleared. "Let's go."

Mike stumbled into the backseat, already feeling sleepy and heavy and calm.

* * *

Kevin slipped the headphones off his ears and stretched until his shoulders popped. "Good show, man," Bob said quietly as he came in to power down the board.

Kevin pushed his chair back, the uneven castors squeaking as he rolled out of Bob's way. "Thanks," he said with a yawn.

"Are we keeping you up past your bedtime?" Bob said with a laugh.

Kevin scowled at him. "Hey, sorry, not all of us can have the college luxury of sleeping all day." Bob laughed at him and held out his hand for the headphones.

Kevin tucked his music away in its special cabinet and tugged on his jacket. Glancing around the tiny studio one last time, he joined Bob at the door, hitting the lights as they left.

Creeping out was always a thrill, and at midnight, the scrub around the abandoned bunker was full of interesting shadows. Bob held up the special cut away section of the fence for Kevin to crawl through and they walked in companionable silence down to Bob's car. Usually, Bob just kept things running, but since he'd talked his roommate Patrick into DJing on Radio Freedom, he'd also started working as a kind of producer for Patrick's show.

Kevin hadn't been expecting Bob to extend that service to Kevin when he had agreed to double-shift. But it had helped, let Kevin concentrate on the music, on the chatter between tracks. He liked to imagine them, out there, listening to Freedom like he used to, back when it was just a faint, crackling signal in the darkness, liked to talk to them like it was a conversation rather than just announce artists and titles.

"Drop me at the corner," he told Bob as he swung off Main Street. "They're usually not home from the city til after one, but just in case." Bob nodded, sliding to a stop just shy of the corner. Kevin nodded his thanks and slipped out of the car. "Tell Patrick to feel better," he said sincerely through the window.

"See you tomorrow," Bob said easily. Kevin watched the car until it turned the corner, then ran for the house, cutting across Mrs McReedy's lawn and jumping the fence. The house was dark, and he let himself in the back door. He made it as far as his room when he heard the sound of a car pulling up the driveway.

Kevin nearly got tangled, trying to kick off his sneakers and tug off his shirt at the same time, but he managed to get under the covers before he heard movement downstairs.

He was almost asleep when he heard his mother pause in his doorway for a moment before moving on.

Kevin drifted off thinking about his playlist for tomorrow.

* * *

Sundays were always Kevin's busiest days. At least, with both Joe and Nick both doing shows, their mother let them sleep in and go to the later church service, rather than the 8am one. Kevin sat through the service, hating how they had to sit up front because their father was in the ministry. He hated how everyone behind him could see him, but he couldn't see them.

Kevin busied himself with keeping a lid on Frankie's fidgeting, and trying to think of what would be a good finishing number. Sunday's shows were always more mellow than Saturdays, a fitting elegy for the death of the weekend.

Then it was lunch at home, chores, finishing off homework instead of napping with the rest of the house. Nick was slow getting ready, meaning that everyone was running late as they pulled out of the driveway on the way to the city.

Kevin waved them goodbye before darting through the house to escape out the back door.

He was panting as he jogged the last stretch, grazing his hand as he skidded through the hole in the fence and down into the bunker.

Patrick and Bob were already there, but so were Pete, Greta, and a few others. "What's up?" he asked, panting a little.

"Broadcast is gonna be light tonight," Pete said. "Cops have a new scanner, they might be getting close."

"Uncle Dave seemed really confident," Greta added nervously. Her uncle was the police chief for the district, and that was the only reason they hadn't been caught yet.

"We need a mobile van," Frank pointed out again. "We're not a true pirate station unless we're mobile."

"Hey," Patrick said archly. "If you've got the money to keep us mobile, please, share."

Kevin left them to their arguing and went to prep his first batch of music, already mentally reshuffling the lineup. He frowned at his stack of records and CDs -- he knew it was a risk keeping them at the station, but if he took them home, his parents might find them and start asking questions. He wouldn't have been able to buy all this music if he had to pay the full asking price; had only got them because Gabe, who owned the only record store for miles, was a supporter of the station and showered all the DJs in discounts and freebies.

But that was an explanation that would just get him even deeper into trouble.

"We can take your stack home with us tonight," Bob offered from the doorway.

Kevin's head jerked up in surprise, but he was smiling as he nodded. "Thanks, man. Appreciate it." He stood up, flipping his first disk over between his hands. "We're going extra mellow tonight, I think."

Bob nodded and jerked his head at the console. "We're powering up at the last second, just in case, and Frank and his guys are going to be roaming, will text in if they see any cops."

Kevin felt a tension in his guts; he couldn't imagine what his parents would do if they got a call from the police. But as he settled the headset over his ears, the tension melted.

Bob held up his fingers, counting them down as the ancient broadcast board lit up. Three, two one.

"Hey there, salty sailors of the audio sea," he purred into the microphone, voice automatically dropping down the register. DJ PK was on the air. “Sit back, relax, and let me spin you an audio delight in low fidelity.” He spun discs and chatted to his invisible audience, telling them the truth, always the absolute truth, no matter what he was feeling.

* * *

Mike sat on the floor, back against the side of his bed, fidgeting as DJ PK explained why they might vanish off the air. He’d seen in the local paper, the way the adults hated the radio station. Mike couldn’t understand why; they played good music, and never got, like, political or anything.

The only reason he could think of was that everyone listened to Freedom, from the biggest jock to the lowest dweeb on the social pecking order. It was the one thing that united them.

Mike clenched his hands into fists as DJ PK cut into a Smith’s track to say goodbye.

* * *

They heard the echo of sirens as they pulled out. Kevin scrunched down in the backseat, squished in between Greta and the window, a case of records heavy on his lap.

"Get off the road," Pete said, voice unusually tense. "Just in case."

In was after moonset, and the roads were dark, but Bob knew these tracks like the back of his hand. He swung them up a side turning, mostly hiding the car behind a scraggly tree. Through the branches, Kevin saw the flashing lights as one, two, three cop cars raced past, on their way to the bunker.

"We cut that a little too fine," Greta sighed as the engine noise faded away.

Bob turned the key and the car pulled out sluggishly, the trunk weighed down with radio parts, CDs, and people.

"That new scanner is working for them," Patrick admitted from the other side of the backseat. He was almost lost under another record case. "Where are we going to broadcast from now?"

"We'll find somewhere," Pete promised. "But first we need to get out of here."

Greta leaned over into Kevin's side. "I hope Frank and the boys got out with their bits. They have the transmitter; if we lose that, we're sunk."

Pete twisted in the front seat. "We're Radio Freedom, the pirate station of the air, we are never sunk!"

Kevin was kind of terrified that they were. "What now, if we can't broadcast?"

Pete turned around, but in the wing mirror Kevin could tell he was grinning. "Now, we stash our gear and hie our way to Chez Way for a little cross-media promotion."

* * *

Mike went to school in a shitty mood. Freedom had cut off broadcasting a little before ten, and though he had stayed up until one, no further news came over the airwaves.

Mike hoped like fuck they hadn't been busted.

The final bells were ringing as Mike tugged as his locker door. A coloured piece of cheap paper fluttered out.

Mike glanced around, but the hallways were mostly empty. He picked it up and flicked it open, grinning at the grainy photocopied image of a pack of pigs chasing a group of people. Some of them were flying on broomsticks. The uneven typeface read:

"RADIO FREEDOM THANKS MEMBERS OF LOCAL LAW ENFORCEMENT FOR THE PLEASANT GAME OF CHASEY LAST NIGHT, AND WOULD LIKE TO ASSURE OUR LOYAL AUDIENCE THAT WE WILL BE BACK ON THE AIR SOON. STAY TUNED."

Mike grinned, suddenly relieved. He tucked the message into his pocket and went to class.

* * *

Kevin was twitchy all week, acutely aware of the heavy cases of records and CDs he’d stashed under his bed, terrified they had left some trace in the bunker that could be tracked back to them.

He met Greta as planned at the library on Saturday morning. Together, they dug out the old ordinance maps (“We have an extra-credit assignment for geography,” they’d told the old librarian, who’d just smiled knowingly and given them the maps), looking for another bunker, or anything they could take over as a new base of operations. The area around the town had been used for training or something during some war, and there were all kinds of derelict hidey-holes if you knew where to look.

“What’s this?” Greta asked, pointing at a tiny mark on the map.

Kevin leaned in and frowned. “Not sure. Add it to the list.” But he didn’t feel too excited -- they’d already chased down a dozen dead ends since Monday, and anyway, Whiteout Ridge ran between the town and the mark on the map. If it was a base, the rise in the land would block transmissions into town. Their transmitter wasn’t powerful enough to punch through.

Greta rolled the map and put it back in its tube. “Wanna hit up Gabe’s?” she asked as they pushed through the library doors and into the late morning sunshine.

“Is the sky blue? Do pigs avoid their taxes?” Kevin told her, nudging her side.

She gave him a very _old_ look. “Careful, honey, your alter ego is showing,” she murmured.

Kevin scowled at the sky. “He hasn’t been exercised in a week, he wants out.”

Greta laughed and looped her arm around his, and together they strolled downtown to Gabe’s.

* * *

Mike flicked through the stacks of jewel cases, not sure what he was looking for. Rumour had it that Freedom was still down, there’d be no broadcast tonight. The thought made Mike twitchy, and in the end he’d half-assed his chores and escaped to the music store. He wasn’t the only one; the place was always busy on a Saturday, but today the crowd seem edgy, people gossiping in low tones up and down the aisles.

“Darlings!” Mike lifted his head as the guy who ran the place called out, coming around the counter to hug...two dorks from his school. Holding up some random CD as a cover, Mike studied them, trying to remember names. The pretty girl, he remembered William had a crush on her last year - Greta, that was it, Greta. He knew the face of the boy she was with, holding onto his arm like it was a courtly dance and not a grimy record store, but Mike was struggling to remember the name.

“Hey Gabe,” Greta said with a laugh, letting go of Boy to give Gabe a hug, and by now Mike wasn’t the only one staring. Mike had been coming here for _ages_ and had never got the managers’ name. That just left the curly-haired kid.

Mike watched as they chatted with the manager - Gabe - for a few minutes before Gabe ushered them out into the back room. Mike heard laughter as he approached the counter with two disks of things he’d heard on that last broadcast. When he peeked through the curtain, he saw the kid sitting, head bowed, earphones clamped over his curls, eyes closed as he listened. His expression was almost beatific, and Mike found himself wanting to step closer.

“Carden!” Mike jumped as a heavy hand landed on his shoulder. He turned slowly, getting his cool back.

“Hey Pete,” he managed. “How’s tricks?”

Pete beamed like the cat with a cage of canaries. “Can’t complain, can’t complain,” he said, eyeing the CDs in Mike’s hand. “Going for some ‘Gurg and some Pixies?” he asked approvingly.

“Heard ‘em on Freedom, liked ‘em,” he explained with a nonchalant shrug. “Speaking of, you know if they’re broadcasting tonight?”

Pete’s grin got impossibly wider. “Now why would I know anything about that, Mr Carden?” he all but leered.

Mike managed to refrain from rolling his eyes, but only just. “Because you know everything, Pete,” he said patiently.

Pete glanced around before dragging Mike unsubtly off into the empty classics section. “Listen,” he whispered, dropping the cheerful act. “The cops raided the place we were using. We’ve hit up google, got some ideas how to beat their scanner, but we still need a Batcave to broadcast from.”

Mike gawped. “You...you want my help?” he managed to get out without squeaking.

Pete sighed. “I know you won’t rat us out,” he said like that explained it all. “And we are seriously out of options.”

Mike swallowed. “I...I may know somewhere.”

* * *

Kevin squeezed in the back of Bob’s car, narrowly missing hitting Greta in the face with his elbow. “Whoops, sorry,” he whispered as he managed to get the door to close.

“All good,” Greta whispered back, flinging her arm over his shoulder and letting him snuggle in until he settled. It felt right, tucked up against her, comfortable.

Nick had a matinee today; Kevin had barely woken up in time to wave everyone goodbye, and they wouldn’t be home til late again. It seemed like more and more lately, the only time Kevin saw his family was when he was waving goodbye from the front step.

Greta leaned into him, making an inquisitive noise in the back of her throat. Kevin smiled wanly and shook his head slightly. He didn’t want to bring that into Freedom. This was _special_. Greta knew him well enough to read it in his face anyway. She tilted her head in to rest against his, and they fitted together like _home_. “Anyone know what Pete’s found for us this time?”

“Wasn’t Pete,” Patrick said, twisting around in the front seat despite the heavy case on his lap. “New kid.”

Kevin froze. “New kid?” he asked warily.

Beside him, Greta made a face. “Don’t we have a rule about voting before we let anyone else join Freedom?” she added sharply.

Bob laughed, glancing at her in the rear view mirror before turning his eyes back to the road. “Don’t like letting others into your clubhouse, Miss Greta?”

She huffed, blowing a strand of hair off her face. “Some of us have to live in this crappy town,” she said angrily. “All we need is one newbie blowing his mouth off and we’re all screwed.”

Kevin nodded, feeling a little frantic now. “She’s right. Anyone know who it is?”

Bob shrugged, flicking the indicator. “Pete said he was cool,” he said without rancor, like that was good enough for them. Kevin glanced at Greta, saw his own worry etched on her face. He snuggled in even closer, and started to fret.

* * *

“It’s only temporary,” Pete was saying before they’d even all gotten out of Bob’s car.

“Screw that, Wentz,” Greta snapped. “Who’s the newbie?”

Pete beamed at her. “He’s the one who got us the keys. Come on.” He led them around the back of the elementary school, the familiar paths and trees made strange in the evening shadows. Pete tugged on a door that should have been locked, and gestured them in. “Hurry,” he hissed.

They scampered like mice through darkened corridors, Pete hissing instructions as they crept through a dark janitor’s workroom and up a narrow flight of stairs to the roof space.

It was just high enough for Kevin to stand up, and Kevin knew he wasn’t tall. Bob in particular did not look happy, but he went straight away, hunched over, to where Frank and Toro were assembling the transmitter with deft movements. Kevin put down his CD case and glanced around the familiar faces until he found one that wasn’t. He nudged Greta and nodded towards him.

He spotted the exact second the stranger spotted him. His eyes narrowed, studying Kevin, a look of vague recognition on his face. Kevin took a deep breath, hoped Pete was right about him, and tuned him out. “We gonna be ready?” he asked, kneeling to flip the catch on his case.

Bob nodded. “Great lines over the town,” he said happily.

Frank rocked back to sit on his ass. “I can see my house from here,” he crowed, ignoring the fact that there were no windows. It was just something he always said after they’d had to move; the routine settled Kevin a little.

The board had been propped up on two old chairs. Kevin pulled up a third and slotted his first disk into the player. The room wasn’t soundproofed like the bunker had been, but it was high enough that the sounds of the street wouldn’t filter down the microphone and betray their position.

Kevin rolled his neck, settling in as the board powered up. He could feel everyone looking at him as Bob held up his hand. Five. Four. Three.

Kevin closed his eyes, hands settling automatically over the antique dials. The intro music played in his ears. Two, one, he counted down to himself as he smiled into the microphone. “Greetings from the afterlife, cool cats and tiny kittens. We’re back from the dead with tales from the ferryman. So settle back, relax, and el dia de las muertos, my little skeletons, with Ozomatli’s _Love and Hope_.” He tapped play, grooving a little in his seat as the beat filled his whole world.

* * *

Mike sat in a corner, forgotten, and watched in awe as that skinny little kid he’d seen at the music store, the one who darted around corners at school, dodging bullies by keeping his head down between classes, transformed into the voice that had marked out Mike’s days ever since they’d moved to this shitty little town.

The dork was gone. He seemed almost blissfully at peace, smiling softly into the microphone as he purred out nonsense that made sense, flipping disks with casual confidence. Mike didn’t notice the two hours flying by until the kid sighed into the microphone. “And now it’s time for me, DJ PK, to say goodnight, good bye, and good luck. But fear not, my little owlets, for DJ PS is here to put the postscript on your Saturday night shenanigans. So love easy, fly free, and enjoy this, a personal fave of mine, Matthew Sweet’s _Girlfriend_. Adios, amigos.” He hit play and leaned back, stretching like he was easing his way back into mundane reality.

He flipped off his headphones and vacated the chair for the next DJ. Only then did he look up and meet Mike’s eyes.

Mike shivered. He’d never tried to put a face to the voice, but now he was staring right at it, he knew he’d never forget it.

PK slinked over as the new DJ flipped open the board and introduced himself. “And to keep things kicking over,” PS said into the microphone. “Here’s some Hendrix.”

DJ PK came to a stop in from of Mike. “Take a walk with me?” he asked sweetly.

Mike couldn’t say no, not to that voice, not now, maybe not ever.

* * *

Kevin walked them down to the janitor’s closet, still mindful that, technically, they were trespassing (and he was totally going to have _words_ with Pete about that, later, after the show was done). He perched on the edge of the little workbench tucked up in the corner and studied Mike under the light of the single, crappy bulb hanging from the ceiling. “You realize you can never tell anyone,” he started, cutting right to the chase. “Not your best friend, not your mother, not even your dog. No-one.”

Mike nodded. “I know. The cops are after you.” Kevin rolled his eyes; like they needed the reminder. “Can I ask why? No one could tell me.”

Kevin rolled his neck, feeling it click after two hours hunched over the desk, sitting in that crappy chair. “Pete found the broadcast equipment, figured out how to turn it on, somehow. Started just broadcasting out his CD collection.” Kevin huffed a laugh. “But it turns out he was jamming police radio. We’re on a different frequency now, but, well,” he scuffed his hand up the nape of his neck, feeling the prickle of the short hairs. “The cops around here know how to hold a grudge. And now it’s become this big thing, and we’ve led them on such a chase, and Pete loves to keep thumbing his nose at them,” he laughed without humour. “I’d hate to think of what they’ve got lined up for us when they do catch up with us.”

Mike crept a little closer. “So why do you do it?”

Kevin looked at him like he’d asked why Kevin kept breathing. “Because,” he said at last, sounding a little baffled by the question. “This is all I’m good at.”

Mike nodded. “You are,” he admitted. “Good, I mean. Great. I...I’ve never missed a show.”

Kevin smiled, a little uncertain. For all that he’d reached out to them through the darkness, he’d never met a fan before. “What’s your name?”

“Uh, Mike. I’m Mike Carden.”

Kevin slipped off the edge of the bench and held out his hand. “Well, Mike Carden, welcome to Radio Freedom. I’m Kevin.”

Mike took Kevin’s hand.

* * *

Kevin sat by Mike against the dusty partition wall, listening to Patrick spin until at last the clock on the town hall chimed midnight. Kevin breathed out as the board went dark.

“Think we got away with it?” Greta asked.

Pete’s phone was a flare of light in the darkness. “Nothing from Frankie or Toro. Let’s strip down and get outta here, though.”

Bob stretched, wincing as his hands knocked dust off the rafters. “Are we leaving the transmitter, or taking it with us.”

“Um,” Mike said, wincing a little as everyone looked at him. “No-one comes up here. I only found it by accident, waiting for my mom after a parent-teacher night.”

Greta frowned and stared at him. “Hey, your mom is Mrs Carden, right?” She laughed at Mike’s little nod. “She was my sixth grade teacher.”

“Great,” Bob growled. “We’ve all bonded. Now, are we packing up completely or what?”

Pete glanced at Mike for a second longer than was comfortable. “Strip down, but find a corner to stash it. They can only track us when we’re broadcasting, if they haven’t found us now, it’d be more of a risk to be caught moving the stuff.”

Mike followed Kevin as he went over to help with the strip down, but he kept his mouth shut and his eyes open. Kevin glanced at him, then pulled out his flashlight. “Here, hold this here,” he said, pointing to the connectors he was pulling. He could do it in the dark, had, many times, but Mike smiled gratefully and Kevin smiled back.

* * *

The air was crisp as they snuck out of school and around to where they’d hidden the cars on a side street. Frank was just pulling up as they stepped onto the sidewalk. “No sign of the blue wonders,” Frankie told them as he hung out of the passenger side window. “And one kick ass show. Let’s call this Saturday a fucking success and roll.”

Pete high-fived him and climbed into the back seat.

Mike glanced over and saw Kevin was watching him. “You okay to get back?” Kevin asked.

Mike swallowed and nodded. “Yeah, I’m just a couple blocks over,” he said, pointing.

Kevin smiled again, and Mike had to bite his lip to stop himself from grinning back like a fool. “Well, thanks for the venue.”

“Until tomorrow?” Mike asked, throat tight.

Kevin nodded, turned, and dashed for the waiting car.

Mike stayed on the sidewalk and watched until the red rear lights disappeared from sight before sprinting for home. The house was sleeping as he snuck in and slipped his mother’s keys back into her handbag. He’d need to figure out how to make copies, if they were going to stay in the school.

He hoped they would, at least long enough for them to stop staring at Mike like he was a police spy. He wanted, needed them to let him stay.

* * *

The lights were on when Kevin got back. He stared for a long time before he took a deep breath and walked in through the front door, ready to face them. His parents were in the kitchen, and Kevin could hear the sound of tupperware being unpacked, soft conversation.

They’d only just beaten him home.

Kevin walked up the stairs and into his room, toeing off his shoes. He sat on the end of his bed, wondering what punishment they had in store. “Still up, sweetie?”

Kevin glanced up, surprised by the softness in her tone as much as her appearance. “Uh, yeah, Mom.”

She smiled softly at him. “Well, go to bed, we’ve got church tomorrow.”

Kevin stared at the door long after she was gone. They hadn’t even noticed. He’d come home through the front door at a quarter past one in the morning, and they hadn’t even noticed.

He laid back in the darkness and stared at the ceiling for a very long time.

* * *

“Mike!” He barely lifted his head off the pillow as his mother appeared in the doorway. “Are you going to lie about all day?”

“Yes,” Mike said easily, flopping back down.

She laughed. “Live it up, teenage boy. Soon adulthood will come a-calling.”

Mike smiled despite himself. “All the more reason to enjoy it now.”

She _tsked_ , but Mike could tell she was smiling too. “Fine, you win this round. We’re going out, will you be home for dinner?”

Mike felt his heart start to race. “No,” he said, trying to keep his voice bored, unaffected. “I think Sisky said something about going out for pizza or something.”

“Fine,” she said, walking away. “But no coming in after midnight tonight, young man, it’s a school night.”

Mike didn’t care.

He’d be helping on Radio Freedom tonight.

And maybe he’d get to talk to DJ PK- no, to _Kevin_ some more.

* * *

Pete was showing Mike the board when Kevin came in. He smiled hello as he went to dig through his cases for some CDs. He glanced up as Mike came over; Pete had vanished, probably downstairs to set up the patrol for the broadcast. “Learning the ropes, I see?” he said almost teasingly, voice light.

Mike nodded, staring at the case. “Just the basics. Man, are all these yours?”

Kevin glanced at the case. “Uh, yeah, most of them.”

Mike whistled, low. “Is this, like, a perk of being a DJ?”

Kevin laughed. “Actually, yeah.” He plucked out the CD he had been looking for. “Have you heard these guys? Their first album was straight up punk-pop, but this was a bit more conceptual.”

Mike was turning the jewel case over in his hands. “Never heard of them,” he admitted, feeling a little dumb.

“I hope you like them,” Kevin said almost bashfully, taking out another handful of CDs. “That album can be a bit of an acquired taste, but I’m in the mood for a discordant orchestra.” He smiled and continued pressing cases into Mike’s hands, explaining each choice like he thought Mike might understand.

Mike tried to keep a hold of the growing pile as Kevin produced yet more CDs and added them to the stack. “How do you know all this music?” he asked in amazement.

Kevin smiled, but his eyes were shuttered, closed off. “I, uh, I guess I’ve just listened to a lot of music,” he muttered and something about the set of his shoulders screamed a warning to Mike. “Not much else to do.”

That, at least, Mike could understand.

* * *

Mike sat next to Patrick, listening to the song slide to a finish. “That was _Emotion Sickness_ , by Silverchair,” Kevin crooned into the microphone. “Hard to believe they were releasing songs like that when most of us were in short pants, hey? Let’s kick it up and get those teen hearts pumping with another classic. Clap along once you learn the beat, this is Fleetwood Mac with _Tusk_.” He flicked a switch and the hypnotic drums flowed out of the speakers.

Mike didn’t remember closing his eyes, but when he opened them, Kevin was looking over his shoulder, looking straight at Mike, smiling like he knew a secret. Mike smiled back, fingers tapping the beat on his raised knee, and Kevin’s smile shifted into something honest and sweet as he looked down and back to his board.

When Mike looked away, he found Patrick watching him. Patrick glanced at Kevin, then back at Mike. He nodded to himself and settled back against the wall, head tipped back, eyes closed, as he listened to the music Kevin had selected.

Mike felt like he’d passed a test. He relaxed and let the music flow over him.


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

Kevin always needed a moment after his show ended, to get back into his skin, remember how to talk like a person, and not like a disembodied voice in the darkness. He sat on the hood of Pete’s car, listening to the stereo blast an old Louis Armstrong number. It wasn’t a Patrick playlist without some classic jazz. The stars were bright and clear, shimmering the crisp air.

He looked over at the sound of feet crunching over the gravel. “Am I interrupting?” Mike asked softly.

Kevin shook his head, patting the hood. “Not at all. Pull up some car.”

“And it’s not even your car,” Mike teased as he ambled over and laid back flat onto the hood. 

Kevin laughed as he eased himself back onto his elbows beside him. “Weekends from six til midnight, I am an urban rebel, didn’t you know? It was in the paper and everything.”

Mike sniggered. “How’d you get involved in all this?” Mike asked as they stared up at the stars, Louis’ horn switching with strange smoothness to Bloodletting”I want to kiss you on the mouth and tell you I’m your biggest fan.... He sucked in a deep breath at the sudden stab of want that coursed through him. “Uh,” he muttered, clearing his throat and turning away to look around the room, searching for something else to talk about, something safe. “Your turn. Um, best album?”

* * *

The random playlist had cycled back to the start as the clock in the hall chimed half past nine. Mike was sprawled on his rug now, staring at the ceiling, arms waving as he was talking. “But I still don’t get why everyone in this town seems so happy to let the cops spend so much time and money trying to chase down a tiny little radio station.”

Kevin sighed and let himself slip deeper into his slouch. “Unless there’s a deeper reason we don’t know about, the best we can guess is that they’re still pissed about Pete,” he said with a shrug.

Mike rolled onto his side and poked Kevin’s leg. “You don’t sound too worried.”

Kevin pulled a face. “I don’t like the thought of what my parents would do if they had to come rushing back from the City because I got arrested, but...” he fidgeting with his hands for a moment. “But I really don’t want to stop,” he confessed, all in a rush.

Mike scrunched his nose, grinning at Kevin. “And I really don’t want you to stop, and I bet I’m not alone. DJ PK has quite a following.”

Kevin snorted. “Don’t tell me that, I’ll freeze up!”

Mike rolled back, hands held up in surrender. “Okay, okay. But,” he added after a thoughtful pause, staring at the ceiling. “Have you guys ever tried to get a license?”

“What do you mean?” Kevin asked, sounding confused.

“Li-cense,” Mike said slowly, ducking back at Kevin’s half-hearted swipe. “As in, broadcast radio license.”

Kevin scowled. “How?” he asked, sounding defeated. “We can barely keep the transmitter going, let alone get official compliance. Besides,” he added with a sigh. “We’re kinda lacking in responsible adult supervision.”

Mike rolled over onto his belly, facing Kevin. “But you have hundreds of listeners,” he pointed out, ignoring the second point. “Get them to chip in.”

Kevin grinned in disbelief. “What, like a fundraising drive?”

Mike mimed shaking a begging bowl. “Alms for the DJ?” Kevin needed to laugh more often, Mike decided. “I’m serious!”

But Kevin was shaking his head. “Like that would work,” he said dismissively. “Nah, we’re on our own on this one, but hey,” he added with a little shrug. “That’s cool. I mean, Freedom is ours, we get to do what we want and play what we want. It’s ours,” he repeated more quietly, but with an unshakable conviction.

Mike had no idea what to say to that. Kevin quirked a grin as the pause extended for too long. “Anyway, doesn’t matter,” he said with a little shake of his head that sent his curls flying in a way that made Mike’s fingers twitch. “You still haven’t told me your guilty pleasure album. Come on,” he teased, poking Mike in the side with his foot. “Fess up.”

* * *

“Okay, dude,” Sisky said, dropping his books onto the table with a loud thunk. “What gives.”

Mike blinked and tugged out his earphones. “What what?” he asked, a little confused. 

Sisky waved his hands. “What everything? You disappear on Friday and reappear on Monday looking like you’ve been abducted by aliens, and now you blow off lunch period? I repeat: what gives?”

Mike smiled awkwardly in apology. He’d been listening to the playlist Kevin had given him -- a part of him was starting to suspect there was some deeper meaning to the song selection. A bigger part of him was wondering when he’d turned into a fourteen year old girl. Next thing, he’d be liking glitter, then there’d be no turning back. Just because a guy liked guys, didn’t mean he had to stop being a guy or something.

As life philosophies went, it was still a work in progress.

Sisky was still glaring at him. “Um, just had some stuff to do,” he dissembled, wrapping his headphone cord carefully around his ipod.

“Stuff to do?” Sisky leered. “Or someone to do?” He even raised an eyebrow for good measure.

Mike just looked at him. “Bill definitely does that better.”

Sisky nodded, bouncing on the spot as Mike gathered his things. “I have been taking notes, but am sadly yet to crack his technique.” They fell into step easily, heading back to their lockers. “But seriously, you okay?”

Mike nodded. “Yeah. Just...” he saw Greta look up from her locker and smile at him as they approached. “Just been helping a friend with some shit, you know.”

Sisky nodded seriously. “Say no more, brother. The bonds of friendship are strong and binding.”

Mike whapped him upside, but he was smiling. “You have seriously gotta stop spending so much time with Bill.”

“I am hearing my name used in vain.” William appeared out of a parting in the crowds of student like a low-rent prophet and promptly sprawled across the bank of lockers to Mike’s left. “Are you saying fabulous things about me?”

Mike slapped his books for next period into Bill’s ribs. “Actually, I was saying what a fucking terrible influence you are on young Adam here.”

William beamed as he reshuffled Mike’s books into a more aesthetically pleasing stack. “Adam T. Siska is my darling little protege,” he all but cooed. “But enough of his sweet, innocent little face. A little birdie tells me you were spotted paying a visit to one Kevin Jonas last night.”

Mike blinked, and Bill beamed. “This town is too fucking small. I was just borrowing some music,” he muttered, wondering why on earth he was feeling guilty of something.

“In the age of the internet, does that still require a house call?” William mused. “Or,” he added with a leer. “Is that just what you kids are calling it these days?”

“Bill!” Mike snapped, slamming his locker shut hard enough to make Sisky jump.

William beamed at him. “Oh, you’re adorable,” he sang out happily. “Have you actually asked him out yet, or is this just more pining from afar like with Tom again?”

Mike opened his mouth to snap William’s head off, paused, and deflated. “I don’t even know if he’s...y’know,” he admitted in a small voice.

William’s eyes were wide. “Oh my god,” he breathed in surprise. “You’re seriously...I was just teasing. But you...oh wow!” He high-fived Sisky as Mike scowled. “Look, Adam! Little Mike Carden might no longer be the bridesmaid...oof,” he gasped, still grinning even as Mike elbowed him in the ribs. “Listen, listen,” he gasped out. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll help you find out which team Jonas bats for, but you’ve got to introduce us.” He beamed at Mike’s look of confusion. “He’s best friends with the delightful, the delectable, the absolutely edible flower of sixth period, Miss Greta Salpeter. I need an introduction.” He looked away. “And maybe a character reference.” He turned back and batted his eyelashes at Mike. “Please?”

Mike took his books back as the warning bell rang. “Fine. Whatever. Just...go away now, please? Far, far away.”

“Sure,” William beamed, snagging Sisky’s shirt. “And,” he added, nodding over Mike’s shoulder. “Incoming.”

Mike turned and nearly slammed into Kevin. “Oh shit, sorry,” Mike babbled, still a little off-kilter.

“No harm, no foul,” Kevin said with an easy smile, his hand warm on Mike’s arm as he helped steady him. “Listen, you’re coming out to,” he glanced around at the steady stream of students hurrying to class. “You know, tonight, right?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Mike promised warmly.

“Good,” Kevin breathed, and Mike felt his stomach tighten at Kevin’s relieved expression. “Bob’s got some huge group project thing, and Patrick’s out of town til Friday, so I promised Greta I’d help her tech her thing,” he said cryptically. “I’ll show you how, if you’d like,” he added, almost coyly.

“Yeah,” Mike said, mouth dry. “I’d like.”

Kevin beamed. “Awesome. See you there, about half past seven?” he asked, backing away. “Cool,” he added at Mike’s little nod. “Later!” He turned and disappeared into the flow of stragglers disappearing into class.

Mike was late to chemistry, but he really didn’t care.

* * *

Kevin felt Mike watching him as he put the transmitter and board together with deft hands. It was just the three of them in the stuffy attic space tonight - most of the college students in the crew were busy tonight, and the rest were on patrol, led by Frank.

Kevin didn’t want to know where Frank had found the cheap tin sheriff’s badge - he just hoped Frank didn’t get pulled over by the cops still wearing it.

“Wait,” Mike asked suddenly. “So, let me get this straight, if this connects the board to the player, and that to the transmitter, what’s that one do?”

Kevin leaned back and kicked the small gun-metal grey cube on the floor under the desk. “Power supply,” he explained, feeling strangely warm when Mike nodded like he understood. Pete may have found it, and put it together, but Kevin felt strangely possessively of the mismatched collection of technology that was the heart of their little station.

Mike pointed at the bundles of connectors in Kevin’s hand. “And those go there?”

Kevin beamed, nodded, and handed him the cables like a bizarre bouquet. “Wanna try?” He watched, nodding encouragement, as Mike slowly assembled the board. Mike’s look of surprised satisfaction as the board lit up had Kevin grabbing Mike’s arm, almost clutching it as he leaned in. “Congratulations. You’ve just turned on your very first radio station.”

On the other side of the board, Greta sniggered. “One of us,” she chanted as she flipped through the stack of CD cases on her lap. “Watch out, Mike,” she added, glancing up and smiling impishly. “Next thing you know, you’ll be spinning disks, and then there’s no hope.”

Mike shook his head. “Uh uh,” he said, feeling a little panicked just at the thought. “There’s no way I could do what you guys do.”

Greta caught Kevin’s eye. “That sounded like a challenge to me,” she said slowly, with an evil smile.

Kevin’s hands squeezed where they were still wrapped around Mike’s arm. “Don’t worry,” Kevin told him, laughing. “We won’t shove you on air or anything.”

“Tonight,” Greta added tartly as she leaned over to put her first CD in the drive.

Mike glanced at Kevin, who mouthed ‘long story’ back even as he confidently flipped a few switches. “Okay, darling,” he told Greta. “You’re live in five.”

Kevin watched the dials and the levels as Mike dragged over a crate to sit right beside Kevin, and tried to ignore the warm comfortable feeling pooling in his belly as their arms brushed slightly every time Kevin reached across the board.

Greta’s show tonight was all lightness, her song selection poppy and fun. “Did you get a chance to listen to my CD?” Kevin asked casually as Greta stretched, listening to her song choice on her headphones.

Mike nodded, matching Kevin’s casualness. “Yeah. It’s...I really like it.”

“Good,” Kevin said with a shy little sideways smile that sent Mike’s heart racing.

Greta dedicated her next song to “those newcomers in the lists of love.”

They both pretended not to hear her.

* * *

Kevin very clearly remembered putting the notice for the school open house night on top of the pile of bills, with all the other mail. 

He very clearly remembered reminding his mother that he had a piece in the art show, and hearing her tell him harriedly that yes, we’ll be coming, just for a little before we have to get your brothers to the theatres.

Kevin also remembered now that they said the same thing last year.

He smiled at Ms Monroe, his art teacher, and ducked away before she could ask the question behind her kindly eyes. Kevin wandered away from the art room, down the hall, past the families following their children around the school. He ducked into the home ec. room and claimed a muffin for dinner, winking at Ashlee as she slipped him a cupcake from her cooling rack.

He was feeling more like himself as he drifted into the workshop behind a small knot of adults, licking the last of the muffin crumbs off his fingers.

“Oooh, cupcake!” Kevin hunched over his little treat, covering it protectively with one hand.

“My cupcake! Get your own.” Mike pouted, then grinned. His hair was tousled, his coveralls smeared with grease, and when he held up his hands in surrender, they were covered in black and brownish streaks. “Also, wash your hands first,” Kevin added, years of big brother-ing coming to the fore.

“Yessir,” Mike snapped off the parody of a salute, even clicking his heels, though his rubber-soled docs made barely a sound. “But where’d you get the cupcake?”

Kevin fastidiously folded back the fluted paper as he trailed after Mike to the trough sink set against one wall. “Ashlee’s home ec. display.”

Mike paused, hands under the stream. “You stole one of Ashlee Simpson’s cupcakes? Man, it was nice knowing you, I’ll say nice things at your eulogy.”

Kevin smirked and took a bite, almost groaning at the moist sweet vanilla taste exploding on his tongue. “No theft. She gave me one.”

Mike shut off the faucet with his elbow and scrunched the towel between his fingers. “Ashlee Simpson,” he said slowly. “Gave you a cupcake. Ashlee Simpson doesn’t give away her cupakes. I’m pretty sure she’s named them, and hunches over the plate while no-one is looking going ‘my precious.’” 

Kevin laughed as Mike straightened up from his hunch. “I think this one’s called George,” he said, popping the last bite into his mouth.

Mike smirked at him. “Cupcake cannibal.”

Kevin licked his fingers, blushing a little as Mike stared. “What do you call a mass cupcake murderer, because I want another one.”

Mike cleared his throat awkwardly. “Cupcake-a-cide, I guess, I don’t know. What do you think my chances are?”

Kevin grinned, trying to suppress the sudden fluttering in his belly. “How are your hands?”

Mike holds them up, twisting them for Kevin’s inspection. “So clean you could eat with them.”

“Well, then come on.”

Kevin wondered where the sudden urge to take Mike’s hand came from. He fought it down and led the way back to the home ec. display.

* * *

Mike sat on the bench next to Kevin, almost groaning as he ate his cupcake. “You,” he mumbled through a mouthful of lemon frosting. “Have the best friends.”

Kevin was strangely silent for a moment. “Yeah,” he murmured at last. “Yeah, I do.”

Mike licked frosting off his fingers. “Okay, that sounded like something with some history.”

Kevin snorted and began to tear his cupcake wrapper into tiny little shreds. “Are your parents here?” he asked.

Mike frowned at the apparent non-sequitur. “Yeah. They swung by the ‘shop earlier, and they’re showing my little brother around all the proper things before I get my hands on him next year and show him all the improper things.” He grinned, but the joke fell flat.

“Mine aren’t,” Kevin said without inflection. “Again.”

Mike blinked, licked his lips, tried to gather his thoughts. “And it sounds like you have a problem with that.”

The cupcake wrapper was confetti now. Kevin opened his palm, and the light evening breeze whipped it across the sidewalk. “I...I guess, my problem isn’t that they’re not here,” he said at last, still watching the paper dance and flutter in the air. “My problem is they said they would be, and they’re not.”

Mike watched Kevin. “That does suck.”

Kevin kept on talking like Mike hadn’t interrupted. “The funny thing is, I can tell you exactly where they are right now, but I’d bet real money that they couldn’t say the same about me any day of the week.”

Mike made a noise of agreement. “It’s the price you pay for being an international man of mystery.” He waited until Kevin looked at him. “And nefarious cupcake thief.”

It worked; Kevin burst out laughing.

Mike grinned as Kevin settled back down, smiling a bit more easily now. “I know it’s important,” he said at last, twisting and bringing his knee up until he was sitting sideways, facing Mike. “And Joe and Nick, my brothers, they really deserve it. They’re really good,” he said, face just lighting up in a way Mike hadn’t seen outside of a broadcast. “I just wish...”

Mike waited patiently, but Kevin just shook his head, dismissing the thought as he straightened back up, leaning back so his posture mirrored Mike’s. “Nothing.”

“No,” Mike pressed. “Go on, what were you going to say.”

But it was gone, he could feel it. “Nothing,” Kevin repeated with a self-depreciating little shrug. “Just ignore me and my first world problems,” he added with a snicker. “I mean, isn’t it every teenagers dream to have no adult supervision six nights out of seven?”

“There are obvious upsides,” Mike agreed cautiously.

“Come on,” Kevin said, standing up. “Now that I’ve fortified you with sugar, you get to be the person who stands in front of my art and says nice things.” He held out his hand and hauled Mike up.

Mike didn’t let him let go until they were almost back inside, and Kevin let him.

* * *

Mike listened to Sisky chatter away about his plans for his brother’s birthday party as they mooched down the main street towards Gabe’s. Mike grinned to himself, still feeling that little thrill that came with knowing the biggest secret in town.

His grin broadened even as his stomach twisted when he spotted Kevin chilling out behind the counter with Gabe and Pete. Kevin beamed at him as he came over. “Hey,” he said, sounding ridiculously happy. “So, guess what,” he continued before Mike could even open his mouth. “Gabe has, like, hit the motherlode and scored the Avalanches pre-release. It’s amazing, do you want to come listen?”

Mike felt Sisky staring at him. “Um, yeah,” he said with a shrug. “But I promised Sisky I’d help him find something for his brother’s birthday.”

Kevin stepped back, deflating a little back towards the quiet persona he wore around school as he finally noticed Sisky. “Oh, yeah, sorry, of course.”

Mike impulsively reached out and touched Kevin’s wrist. “Raincheck?” he asked hopefully and was rewarded with a blinding smile. 

Kevin glanced over his shoulder as Gabe called his name. “Coming,” he called back. “Hey, you’re still...” his eyes flicked over to Sisky for a split second. “Tonight, I mean?”

Mike nodded. “Try and keep me away,” he promised.

Before Kevin had even fully disappeared into the back room, Sisky was pushing Mike into one of the dead-end aisles. “Okay,” he said fiercely. “Spill.”

Mike considered going for dumb, but decided against it in the face of Sisky’s fierce expression. “That’s Kevin,” he said with a lame little shrug.

Sisky peered at him for too long to be comfortable. “That’s the guy you like?” he said slowly.

Mike pushed him back and tried to walk away. “Whatever,” he said dismissively.

Sisky grabbed his arm and hauled him back. “No, wait, hold up. I didn’t mean it in a bad way or anything.” Mike raised an eyebrow until Sisky let go of his arm. Holding up his hands in a calming gesture, Sisky added quietly. “For what it’s worth, I think he’s totally into you too.”

Mike couldn’t stop himself from looking over towards the counter, even though the angle was all wrong to see anyone. “That’s...that’s good to know,” he finally managed to choke out.

“So,” Sisky said after a pause, in his usual obnoxiously loud voice. “Since it appears you have a hot date tonight, help me pick out a fucking CD, okay.” He punched Mike’s arm and wandered off along the racks.

Mike followed dutifully, trying not to grin like a fool.

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

Kevin was waiting for him in shadows outside the school. “So,” he said as he dropped into step beside Mike. “According to practically everyone, we are on a hot date tonight.”

Mike felt his cheeks warm, and was silently gratefully it was dark outside. But Kevin sounded amused rather than angry. “Well,” he hedged. “That depends.”

“On what?” And Kevin sounded both curious, and a little open to what Mike had to offer.

Feeling a little more confident now, Mike leaned into Kevin and found his fingers by touch. “On whether you’ll let me buy you dinner after the show tonight?”

Kevin’s fingers twitched in his loose grasp, but he didn’t pull away. “I could usually go a milkshake, after,” he said, sounding a little shaky, but in a _good_ way.

“Deal,” Mike said. He knew they were both grinning like an idiot as they climbed into the attic, but he really, honestly, just did not care.

Pete climbed up as they were pulling the deck out of its hiding place. He clumped to a stop and looked from one to the other. “Jesus, have you two been fucking or something?” He held his hands up in front of his eyes. “The glow, it burns.”

Kevin laughed as Mike easily flipped Pete off and got back to the task of untangling the cables. After a few more teasing comments, the three of them settled into an easy rhythm. Mike still needed to check details, but he was getting better at understanding how the various pieces fit together to bring the antique machine to life.

More people arrived; Bob gently ousting Mike from his spot to finish the power up as Kevin bent over a box of albums, conferring in soft tones with Patrick and Frank for a moment before Frank grabbed Pete and disappeared back downstairs to start the patrolling. Greta came to sit with Mike, offering him a gummi bear as the board hummed into life and Bob counted Kevin in.

“Good evening, waifs and strays from the apocalypse, and thank you for signing in with me, DJ PK, on this glorious night. Let us not be alone together to this beautiful tune from those original hipsters, Crowded House.”

Mike relaxed against the wall as the first song was beamed out across the town.

* * *

The moon had set, and the streets were strangely quiet as they walked across town. Sometimes, a car would past in a flash of headlights, and more than once, they both heard Patrick’s smooth radio voice talking between numbers from car stereos.

Kevin shivered in the cool night air, and Mike leaned in. “Cold?”

“A little,” Kevin said dismissively. “You don’t have to walk me home, you know.”

“But I want to,” Mike said easily, and Kevin maybe felt a bit warmer. Mike nudged his shoulder, never breaking step. “It’s probably the only way I’ll get you all to myself, for one.”

Kevin made a face. “Yeah, sorry about that,” he muttered.

Mike chuckled. “Don’t be. You know some interesting people.”

Kevin scoffed. “Interesting? I guess that’s one way to describe the Brothers Way.” He rubbed his hands over his arms, trying to stay warm. “Feel privileged, Gee only comes out of the basement but once a year.”

“Like a goth Santa Claus.”

Kevin burst out laughing. “I am so telling him that. It’ll probably end up in his comic book.”

Mike had spent most of the last hour being told about Gee’s comic book. He winced, and cast around for a new topic of conversation; the book sounded interesting, but not when they were on what was technically, possibly, their first date. “What time do you need to be home?”

Kevin shrugged, burying his hands in his pockets even as his shoulders came up. “Saturday’s the busiest night,” he said flatly. “They won’t be home before 1am, at the earliest.” He shrugged again, and Mike could almost feel the walls going up. “Then they have to unpack, send Nick and Joe to bed. I could probably go as late as 1:30 before they’d notice I wasn’t tucked up under the covers.”

The bitterness was back. “Do you want them to?” Mike asked quietly.

“What?” Kevin snapped, suddenly all hard edges.

Mike took a deep breath. “Notice?”

Kevin bristled for a second, then subsided. They walked nearly the length of the block before Kevin answered. “Maybe?” he admitted at last in a tiny voice. “I’m not brilliant like Nick or talented like Joe, or adorable like Frankie. I’m just me. But if the police arrested me, then they’d finally have to deal with me.”

Mike took a chance, and slung his arm over Kevin’s shoulders. “Okay, firstly, you’re all of the above. And secondly, do you really want to get arrested just for that?”

“No,” Kevin mumbled. “But I have to wonder, what they’d say.”

Mike squeezed Kevin closer, feeling the way they automatically fell into step with each other. “You shouldn’t have to go that far to get their attention,” Mike said softly but with conviction. “And for what it’s worth, you’ve got mine. And I don’t want to see you get arrested.”

Kevin sighed and came to a stop. He let his head fall to rest on Mike’s shoulder, his arm sneaking around Mike’s waist.

Mike gathered him into a hug and let him hold on as long as he needed.

* * *

Greta pounced on Kevin as he was walking down the sidewalk towards the school. “So,” she said, appearing out of the shadows and nearly giving Kevin a heart attack. “You and Mike, huh?”

“Greta!” Kevin exclaimed, hand over heart. “I thought you weren’t doing the ninja thing anymore.”

Greta just laughed and looped her arm around his. “Do I need to do it on Mike, make sure he treats you proper?”

Kevin grinned, feeling hot and giddy and excited, all rolled into one. “Keeps me in the manner to which I’ve become accustomed, you mean?” he shot back lightly.

“Absolutely.” Greta squeezed his arm. “But seriously...?” she asked, letting the question trail off.

“We went and got shakes,” Kevin said with a shrug. He almost couldn’t believe what had happened himself, even if nothing had really _happened_. “We talked.”

“And...” Greta prompted, leaning into him. “Don’t make me shake it out of you Jonas, because you know I will.”

Kevin smiled at her. “And he likes me and I like him.”

“Did you kiss him?” she asked hungrily.

“Greta!”

“Hey.” Greta said easily, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “If you have a love life now, it is your friend-bound duty to share all the details with your less-fortunate bestie.”

This time, it was Kevin’s turn to squeeze her arm. “Okay,” he promised. “If anything happens, you’ll be the first I’ll tell.”

“Quite right,” Greta said so pompously that Kevin had to laugh. “You look happier,” Greta added quietly. “Just this last week, since you met him, I mean. You were always so sad.”

Kevin felt his expression close down, and knew Greta had seen it. “I’m not sad,” he protested lamely. “But I am borderline _crrraaazzzzyyyy_ ,” he added with a leer, trying to distract her.

Greta rolled her eyes and Kevin knew she wasn’t fooled. She squeezed his arm and Kevin squeezed back.

* * *

It started to rain as Kevin pressed play on the first track of the evening. Mike looked up as the patter against the roof turned into a rushing sound.

“Dare you to play _Singing In The Rain_ ,” Greta told Kevin, who laughed and immediately began flipping through his collection.

Bob slung his arm around her waist, reeling her in as she walked over. “Never dare the DJ,” he told her, giving her a loose hug before letting her go.

Mike watched them cluster around the deck, making suggestions as Kevin held up CDs. He winced, shifting awkwardly as his phone vibrated in his pocket. The screen glowed brightly in the low light of the attic. He read the message and frowned.

When he looked up, Kevin was watching him. Mike waved his phone lamely. “Um, I have to go,” he muttered, climbing to his feet, ignoring the question writ large on Kevin face. Mindful of their audience, he paused just long enough to squeeze Kevin’s shoulder before dropping down the manhole.

Outside, it was still pouring. Mike thumbed a button on his phone and waited for it to connect. “Okay, Bill,” he growled as he pressed his back to the brickwork, trying to stay under the meagre shelter of the eaves. “What’s the big emergency?”

William just laughed, the fucker. “I’m missing you,” he cooed. “So’s Travie.”

Mike rubbed his hand over his eyes and resisted the urge to cuss him out. “How high are you?”

William giggled and Mike had his answer. “Come over, Michael,” William sang with a seasick lilt down the line. “Just because you’ve got a boyfriend now doesn’t mean you just get to abandon us.”

Mike wasn’t listening. He was staring in horror at the red and blue lights flashing through the trees. “No!” he gasped.

“Uh uh,” William laughed in his ear. “Sisky tells me it’s true, and Sisky is never wrong in matters of the he-”

Mike cut the call and tried to punch in Kevin’s number. “The number you are calling is out of range or...”

“Fuck!” Mike cursed, flicking through his contacts for Pete, Greta, anyone. He flinched instinctively back into the shadows, watching as three police cruisers skidded to a halt in the small drive outside the door they had been using.

They knew where they were going, Mike realized. There was no hesitation as they went straight to the right door and disappeared inside.

Mike stayed in the shadows, ignoring the rain as it was blown into him until he was soaked through to the skin. When the cops reappeared, they looked furious -- but they were carrying the transmitter. “Fan out,” one of them yelled to the others. “They can’t have gotten far.”

Mike melted away. They hadn’t caught Kevin, or Bob or Greta, or any of the others, but it didn’t matter.

They had the transmitter. The police had silenced Radio Freedom.

* * *

Kevin crept into the cold, dark house, jumping at every shadow. He slipped up the stairs and into the bathroom. The shower was almost scalding hot, but Kevin couldn’t stop shaking.

He couldn’t believe what had just happened.

How could he have been so _stupid_?

He curled up under covers, hair damp, clutching his knees to his chest. His eyes prickled and his throat was burning, and Kevin felt overwhelmed.

The transmitter. Mike. Everything.

He wanted to not believe it, but the logic was sound -- Mike had gotten that message on his phone, and had all but run out, and then the cops had come in, come straight at them. They were lucky they’d made it out at all, and Bob and Toro had had the brains to grab the music cases. But they’d had to leave the transmitter behind, and with it the whole idea of Radio Freedom.

It was over.

He heard his family come in, the soft murmur of their voices as they went to bed. The house fell quiet again.

Kevin lay curled up until the sun crept over the horizon.

* * *

Mike was early to school for the first time since he’d transferred in. He raced through the corridors, searching for familiar faces. He found Greta and Pete first, huddled in conference around her locker. Mike didn’t care who was watching as he rushed over. “Are you guys okay?” he asked.

Pete’s face was a mask; Greta’s stare was full of fury. “You!” she snarled.

Mike flinched back, unprepared for her reaction. “What happened?” he asked desperately. “Oh shit,” he cursed as a thought hit him. “Tell me they didn’t get Kevin, did they?”

Pete laid a gentle arm on Greta’s, holding her back. “What happened to you last night?”

Mike blinked, a little thrown by Pete’s carefully calm voice. In quiet tones, mindful of the press of students filling the halls, he told them what he had seen, starting with William’s doped-up call and ending with his vanishing into the rain, unsure what else to do. “They seemed to know exactly where to go,” he said at last. “They took the transmitter.”

“We know,” Pete said, still preternaturally calm.

Greta’s eyes were flashing, her cheeks flushed. “They were tipped off,” Greta spat. “They had an informer.”

Mike looked blankly at their accusing stares for a moment before the dreadful penny dropped. “Me? No, I swear, I....” he felt sick. “It wasn’t me.”

“You get a phone call, you disappear without a word, you’ve gotta admit it was suspicious,” Greta shot back, arms still crossed. But there was a thread of doubt in her tone.

“It was William, my friend. It was a weird message. I swear, I had nothing to do with the cops raiding you.” He looked between their blank stares. “I tried calling up to warn you, but Kevin had his phone off,” he added, casting about frantically for any detail to convince them.

Pete glanced at Greta, who shrugged grudgingly. “I think he’s telling the truth.”

“Maybe,” Greta said slowly. “But I’ve got my eye on you now. If you’re telling the truth....”

Mike breathed out. “I am,” he said fervently. He waited until Greta finally gave him a curt nod. “Did Kevin make it out?” A thought struck him. “Wait, does he think I...?”

The question died on his lips as he followed Greta’s gaze to see Kevin watching them. When he saw Mike had seen him, his eyes narrowed and he very deliberately turned away.

“I think you know the answer to that,” Pete said gently, clapping his hand on Mike’s shoulder.

Mike shook him off and raced off down the corridor after Kevin, pushing his way through the crowds, desperate to explain. “Kevin!”

He caught up as Kevin span around to face him. “Don’t talk to me,” Kevin snarled in his face. “Don’t even look at me. I can’t believe I fell for...” he growled, sounding frustrated and angry and upset all at once.

“Kevin,” Mike said again, reaching for him.

Kevin skittered back. “That was all I had,” he said quietly, looking almost close to tears. “And I thought you and I....” He shook his head, biting his lip. “I hope, whatever your reason was, it was worth it.” He turned and bolted before Mike could say anything.

Mike counted to ten and then punched the nearest locker.

* * *

Kevin sat in his room, staring at nothing as the sounds of Joe and Nick arguing over the remote filtered up the stairs.

Tomorrow, they’d go back to their shows, and Kevin...wouldn’t. The thought made his insides clench painfully. He’d barely eaten at dinner, just picked at his food as Nick and Joe had talked loudly about things that had happened at their theatres, and their parents had laughed and joked and ignored the storm clouds gathering over Kevin. He’d escaped before dessert, firmly closing his door behind him.

He should probably start on his homework, or something. When he turned on his computer, there was the ping of messenger.

Kevin stared at the flashing symbol beside Mike’s name for a long time, before clicking _block_.

It took less than a minute for Pete’s email to arrive. _Are you ever going to let your boy explain?_

Kevin considered just trashing it. Instead, he hit reply. _Nothing to explain. It’s over._

“Kevin, honey?”

Kevin instinctively minimized the screen as he turned around. “Yeah, mom?”

She smiled softly. “Are you doing homework, or chatting with friends?”

Kevin pasted on an answering smile. “Just clarifying a point for someone.” He slid his math textbook off the desk and held it up like a shield. “Doing homework now.”

She nodded approvingly. “Good. And leave your door open, please.”

Kevin scowled at her retreating back and kicked the door shut again. He turned around, flipping open his notebook and studiously ignoring the messages from Greta, Frankie, Bob, even Patrick, that were slowly filling up his inbox.

His headphones filled with the easy sounds of Morrissey, and he focused on that instead. He meant what he said. There was nothing left to say.

* * *

Gossip had gotten around that, somehow, Mike was to blame for Freedom vanishing off the air. Kids who used to keep a respectful distance now jostled him in the halls, and everywhere he went, he was followed by a trail of whispers. Pete and Frankie, strangely, seemed the closest to believing him as he repeated, over and over, that he hadn’t sold them out, and even they didn’t seem too convinced.

Bill and Sisky hadn’t pressed him for details. They’d just taken one look at him and dragged him out to skip class in favour of smoking up and staring at clouds. “Okay,” William said at last, blowing an expert smoke ring. “Talk.”

Mike balled his fist and pressed it to the throbbing pain between his eyes. He’d promised, but Freedom was gone now, what did it matter? Besides, what was Kevin going to do, stop speaking to him? He took a deep breath and began.

As he stumbled to a halt, William whistled low through his teeth. “And it all makes a stupid kind of sense,” he muttered, mostly to himself. He rolled over onto his belly and rested his chin on his folded arms. “You okay?”

Mike tipped his head back on the grass and stared at the infinite blue above their heads. “I want to be pissed off,” he admitted. “But...” he trailed off and laughed bleakly. “I can totally hear Kevin’s thought processes right about now.” He let his head roll to the side to look at Bill. “Freedom really was all he had.”

William smiled fondly at him. “You are well and truly gone, aren’t you?” he teased gently.

Mike groaned and rubbed his throbbing temples some more. “I don’t know how to _fix_ this,” he growled.

Sisky passed him the joint. “Well, when you come up with an awesome plan,” he said easily. “Just let us know what you need us to do.”

Mike inhaled, holding the smoke in his lungs for a long moment, feeling it leech out the tension in his muscles, though it did nothing for the twisted knot in his guts. “Thanks,” he said, hissing the smoke out through pursed lips. “I...yeah, thanks.”

Sisky snapped his fingers and took the joint back. “Come on, think,” he urged Mike. “I met him, once,” he added as an aside to Bill. “He looked at Mike like he hung the moon.”

William giggled. “Where was this? Why weren’t I there to witness the glorious moment?”

“CD store on Main,” Sisky said as the cherry glowed.

There was a dangerous silence from William. He sat up slowly. “I,” he declared. “Have an idea!” He waited until they were all staring at him. “Mix tape! Lure him with new and exotic music!”

Mike flopped his arm over his eyes to block out the light. “Having seen his CD collection, new might be hard.” He grimaced as William poked him in the ribs.

“Do you want your man back or what?” William demanded. “Trust me. Music!” He giggled again and Mike sighed. It probably wouldn’t work, but right now, he’d try anything.

* * *

Kevin was staring at his chemistry textbook, wondering if he could be bothered lugging it all the way home. He sighed, blowing his hair out of his eyes. _All signs point to no,_ he thought to himself, slamming the locker door shut again and nearly leaping out of his skin.

The tall guy who was standing _right there_ beamed at him. “Hello. I don’t believe we have been formally introduced. I’m William Beckett.”

Kevin blinked. “Kevin Jonas,” he said automatically. “Are you selling something?”

Beckett laughed lightly. “Oh ho ho, no. I am merely the postal worker. The kind who brings presents, not a shotgun,” he added like it was a logical amendment. “Here.” He thrust a CD into Kevin’s hands.

Kevin stared at it. “What?” he mumbled, feeling more than a little confused now.

William held up a finger for silence. “I want you to listen to that, open your heart, then call a very silly boy who is kind of stupid for you to get the full story. Promise me.”

Kevin felt his heart start to thud faster in his chest as he put the pieces together. “Mike?” he asked, waving the CD in the air.

William folded his hands piously together in front of him. “Yes, but please don’t break, fold, spindle or mutilate it. Carden put a lot of effort into that. He, I am afraid, is pining,” he added mournfully. “Normally, he’d be breaking things and cursing your name right now, but instead all he does is sigh wistfully. Please, do the universe a favour, listen to that,” he tapped the jewel case still clutched in Kevin’s fingers. “Then _call him_.” With a little bow, William vanished into the crowd of students.

Kevin put the CD firmly is locker, closed it, and walked away.

He nearly missed the bus running back to get it.

Kevin could feel the pull of it in his backpack as he helped his parents get his little brothers out the door on time. He couldn’t stop thinking about it all through trying to read his English book, and trying to solve for _x_.

Finally, he gave up and slid the CD into the drive. He listened to each song, fingers digging into his thighs hard enough to bruise. It almost _hurt_ to listen to each song, and more than once, Kevin glanced at his phone sitting on his desk.

The CD ended on a new song, one he didn’t know, couldn’t even place the band. He instinctively went to look it up on Google, and stopped.

What was the point? He wasn’t a DJ any more. He wasn’t anyone.

Kevin took off his headphones and went back to his homework.

* * *  



	4. Chapter 4

* * *

Kevin had had the CD for days now. He still refused to answer his phone, email, message. Mike slouched down the street, unsure what to do now. His weekends had always been defined by the Radio Freedom broadcasts, and now without that promise waiting for him, the day stretched before him, aimless and unsteady.

“Just the man I seek!” He looked up, a little confused, as he realized where his feet had taken him of their own volition. “Don’t just stand there, cluttering up the sidewalk. Get in here, boy.”

Mystified, Mike followed Gabe into the record store. “Umm,” he tried.

“Michael, isn’t it? Or do you prefer Mike? There’s so many Mikes these days, I’m gonna have to give you all damn numbers soon. I’m Gabe,” Gabe said, pulling back the funky bead curtain that separated the front of the shop from the back. Mike took the gestured invitation and walked through.

The back of the shop was a clutter of stock and hi-fi equipment and dirty mugs and paperwork. Gabe poked him between the shoulder blades. “Keep moving,” he ordered.

Mike was starting to feel a little anxious as Gabe poked him over to an open trapdoor that revealed a narrow flight of stairs leading down. Mike took the stairs carefully, hands trailing against the walls for balance.

He wasn’t sure what he was expecting. A room that looked like it was decorated in the early 80s wasn’t it. “Sit,” Gabe said, pointing to a pile of beanbags. “Coke?”

“Uh, yeah, thanks,” Mike said, gingerly lowering himself down.

Gabe flopped gracelessly into another beanbag. He popped the top off his coke and held it up in silent toast. Mike dutifully tapped his own bottle against it. “So,” Gabe said casually. “Pete caught me up on all that happened, and I made a few enquiries of my own. The tip-off came from one of the houses across the street. She saw ‘young people loitering,’” Gabe even made the air-quotes with his fingers. “And called the cops, and they put together the rest.” He shrugged and took a long pull. “It’s easier to think of them as dumb pigs, but they’re not complete idiots,” he added philosophically.

The beanbag rustled as Mike slumped back, relieved. “Have you told Kevin?” he asked.

Gabe was watching him with sharp eyes. “Not yet,” he said at last.

Mike rubbed his tired eyes. “Please,” he asked quietly. “Maybe then he’d actually talk to me.” When he looked up again, Gabe was smiling softly at him. “What?”

“You and Kevin kind of had a whirlwind romance there,” he said, not unkindly. “So let me lay some wisdom on you.”

Mike made a ‘bring it on’ gesture.

Gabe grinned for a moment. “Okay. The thing about Kevin is, he’s got kind of a dumb-ass martyr complex thing going on.” Mike scowled, and Gabe held up a hand. “Hear me out. You know about his family, right, how stretched things are right now? Well, Kevin’s always kind of been the good one at home, and that’s turned into him getting forgotten.

This time, Mike’s scowl wasn’t aimed at Gabe.

“Yeah, well, I’m not saying it’s ideal. But the thing is, Kevin lets it happen. He gripes and holds grudges and wallows in his misery, but he never does anything to change it. He just makes it part of who he is, or at least who he thinks he is. And part of that is the way he now keeps most people at arm’s length. I think he tells himself that, by doing that, he won’t be disappointed again, but he still hasn’t quite figured out that by protecting himself from disappointment, he’s also cutting off the chance of anyone else getting close in all the right ways.” Mike screwed up his nose as Gabe leered at him. “If you really want the boy, you’re going to have to get him to let you in.”

Mike put down his bottle and leaned forward. “And how do you propose I do that?”

Gabe slumped back and stared at the ceiling. “That, my new friend, is the sixty-four thousand dollar question. I mean, short of producing a new transmitter and giving him back his airwaves, I’m not sure what else would get through to him.” He tilted his head to look at Mike with sad eyes. “I meant what I said, but the truth is, the kid’s got reason to be so damn cautious. His brothers steal the spotlight every fucking time, but the station? That was something that was all his, and now it’s been taken away too.”

But Mike was barely listening. “Why _don’t_ we build another transmitter?”

Gabe scoffed. “Oh, like that’s so easy.”

Mike frowned. “Seriously, am I the only person in this town on the internet?” Gabe started to hum ‘the internet is for porn,’ and Mike looked around until he spotted a stray sock he could throw at Gabe. “I looked up some stuff, when Pete was teaching me set-up. I could build a fucking transmitter for fifty bucks if I could get to a Radioshack.”

Gabe gave him a measured look. “You’re not fucking, are you?”

“I used to be in the electronics club, back at my old school,” he said with a little shrug. “And I take shop here, they have most of the tools I’d need.” He took a deep breath. “And I looked at the FCC website. If we have a clear space on the dial, we could get a broadcast license for, like, two hundred.”

“That’s two-fifty,” Gabe said airily. “My, how the bills add up.”

“Gabe,” Mike said flatly. “Shut the fuck up and listen. I tried to talk to Kevin about this, once, too, but everyone seems to be stuck in the same damn track on this. But I totally think every kid in this town could chip in a few bucks. Think we could find 125 people who listen to Freedom enough to want to chip in two dollars each?”

Gabe’s brow was furrowed, and his fingers were tapping out a complex pattern on the neck of his bottle. “When you put it like that.” His eyes tracked across Mike’s face. “I’m guessing you’d need a responsible adult to sign off on the FCC paperwork?”

Mike smiled. “Think you can fake it long enough to fool them?”

Gabe burst out laughing. “I like you,” he declared, tucking his legs under him and rolling gracefully to his feet. He held out his hand and hauled Mike up and into an unexpected hug. “And I approve of you dating our Kevin.”

Just like that, Mike’s sudden euphoria crashed. “Yeah, well, given he’s not talking to me, I don’t think you could really say we’re dating.”

Gabe took half a step back, holding Mike by his shoulders. “You build us an actual transmitter,” he said. “And we’ll help you get your boy back. Trust me,” he added, grinning impossibly wide. “I am well-versed in the arts of wooing.”

* * *

“So,” Kevin asked as he slumped backwards against the locker next to Greta’s. “Got any exciting plans for this evening?” He’d spent all week so far at home, alone. At first, he killed some time on the Playstation his brothers’ had gotten as a congratulations for landing their auditions. But after maybe half an hour, Kevin was officially over shooting aliens. After a day, he was going mad having nothing to do.

Greta ducked into her locker, and something about it set off warning bells in Kevin’s head. “Umm, I have plans, sorry,” she said too quickly. She slammed her locker closed with her elbow, holding her books high. “Later.”

Kevin watched her rush off, open-mouthed and stunned. Feeling strangely scalded, he tried to find Pete.

Or Frank.

Or anyone.

It was like they had evaporated; either that or they were actively avoiding him.

Kevin slowed to a halt in the middle of the corridor. They were avoiding him, that was the only explanation. He was no longer a DJ, so why would they want him hanging around anymore?

Dragging his feet, Kevin turned for home.

* * *

“I think Kevin’s getting suspicious,” Greta announced to the room at large as she dumped her bag in the corner and claimed one of Gabe’s beanbags as her own. “I felt like I was kicking a puppy this afternoon.”

“Just a little bit longer,” Gabe counseled soothingly. “Then we’ll be giving him the equivalent of a bushel of puppies.” He paused, stroking his chin in a farce of contemplation. “Though that just makes me think of an actual _bush_ of puppies, which would almost be as awesome.”

Pete snapped his fingers. “Focus, Gabriel,” he said sternly. “How’s the paperwork coming?”

Gabe shrugged and slumped down next to Greta, crowding in on her beanbag, making her giggle as it shifted under their combined weight. “Fine, _Peter_ ,” he shot back. “Bueno, excellent. Just need the dollars to make it legit. Made a few calls, shouldn’t take more than a few days to process and get us a license.” He beamed at Pete’s expression. “I know, an efficient bureaucracy. I was shocked too.” He stretched out, pulling Greta more firmly into his side. “All we need now is the means.”

Mike looked up to find the entire room staring at him. “Schematics,” he said, holding up the pages he was studying like a shield.

Frankie leaned against the wall, arms folded over his chest. “You’ve been studying those damn squiggles for days now,” he said accusingly.

Mike tidied his papers. “I’ve had to combine schematics to replicate the range of the old one. And without the old one-”

“Which is still in an evidence locker,” Greta pointed out mildly.

“-I need to make sure everything checks out _on paper_ first. We only have enough stuff to build one. I don’t want to turn it on just to have the magic smoke escape,” he said a little hotly.

“Hey, hey,” Pete said, coming over. “It’s cool, we know you’re working on it.”

“We only have one chance,” Mike mumbled, thinking of the way Kevin wouldn’t even look at him. “We’ve got to do it _right_.”

His head snapped up as Pete laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “We get it,” he said quietly. “But we need to keep momentum up.” His voice dropped to the barest whisper as he turned to block out the rest of the room. “The longer he waits, the harder it’s going to be to make him listen at all.”

Mike nodded and turned back to the schematics.

He had to get this right. Fast.

* * *

Kevin went to bed almost as soon as his parents left the drive. He watched the shadows chase each other across the ceiling in silence until they came home.

* * *

Mike stayed up to 1am, until the circuit diagram began to blur and waver.

* * *

Kevin lurked behind _Hip-Hop, A-J_ and watched as Pete and Gabe had a furiously whispered conversation just the other side of the beaded curtain.

Kevin had never seen either of them look so serious.

When Pete left, it was to meet a dark sedan at the curb. Gabe followed him out to lean through the passenger window to talk briefly to the driver.

Kevin had never seen Pete’s father during office hours, either.

When Gabe came back inside, he saw Kevin, and a thousand expressions played across his face. Kevin kept his eyes on the liner notes of the Best of Arrested Development until Gabe had slunk away into the back room.

* * *

Mike glanced around the shop class, but Sisky was good at causing distractions. As everyone clustered around the far end of the room, Mike sidled up to the toolkit and quietly whisked a couple of things under his shirt.

“Am I missing an eyebrow?” Sisky wailed.

Mike rolled his eyes and tapped their shop teacher on the shoulder. “I’ll take him to the nurses’ station,” he offered, barely waiting for a hall pass before he was dragging Sisky out the door. “Drama queen,” he told Sisky.

“Did you get what we need?” Sisky said, straightening up.

Mike nodded, throat tight and dry. The stolen tools were heavy in his pockets as they dashed through empty halls towards the exit.

* * *

Kevin waved his family goodbye as they headed out for another night of shows. He closed the door, rested his back against the worn wood, and let himself slide down until he was sitting on the floor.

He only got up again when he heard the car pull up the driveway.

* * *

Mike winced as they slowly pulled, pushed, and cursed the new transmitter onto the roof above Gabe’s shop. “Good sightlines,” Bob said approvingly.

Mike nodded, running his fingers over his transmitter, checking for damage. “Hand me those pliers?” Together, they bolted it down as best they could and began the long, slow, laborious process of feeding the wires back down to the shop.

The mezzanine over the shop floor had been cleared of a year’s worth of boxes, spiders, and dust, and Victoria had strung an old sheet and some ratty touring banners from the ceiling to shield it from prying eyes as William lounged on the railing and ‘supervised.’ “Do you think it’s going to work?” she asked as she wiped her hands on the back of her jeans, William’s eyes tracking every move.

Mike tried to push away his doubts; the closer they got to broadcast hour, the more the potential problems multiplied. Before he could answer, Pete was slinging his arm around Mike’s shoulder. “I have faith,” he declared loudly. “True love conquers all, yada yada, all that bullshit.”

Down by the stack of components that would form the new desk, Patrick snort. “Ah, the soul of a true romantic,” he said drily. “Let him go so we can wire this up.”

Mike gratefully ducked out of Pete’s loose embrace and knelt on the floor. “Is it true love?” Patrick asked quietly as Pete began to loudly flirt with Victoria.

Mike stared at the wires in his hands. “Too early to tell.”

Patrick made a soft noise in the back of his throat. They worked together in silence for several minutes, until Victoria wandered off, trailing Pete and William behind her like annoying satellites. “Have you thought about what you’re going to say?” Patrick asked.

Mike sat back and blinked. “To Kevin?” He snorted and pushed his hair off his face. “I’ve got to get him to actually listen to me first, and that’s easier said than done.”

Patrick shook his head. He picked up a microphone and tossed it into Mike’s lap. “He’ll listen if you say it through that.”

Mike stared at it in abject horror. “I...I’m _building_ it, I can’t...” he spluttered, waving his hands about to try and encompass the giant, faceless audience who listened to Freedom in the dark.

Patrick grinned at him. “Building it is good. Saying something with it is better.”

Mike stared back at him, eyes wide and already breathing hard.

Patrick frowned. “Please don’t tell me you get stage-fright.”

Mike dropped his gaze to stare at the microphone in his lap. “Last time I had to give a presentation to the class, I fainted, clipped my head on a desk, and they had to take me to hospital to check for concussion.”

“ _Oookay_ ,” Patrick said at last. “Listen, we can help you out, but you’ve got to figure out some way to actually, y’know,” he shrugged, wincing a little. “ _Broadcast_.”

Mike cleared his throat and picked up the microphone. “I hope he talks to me after all this,” Mike said, dazed.

Patrick grinned at him. “If he doesn’t, me and Bob’ll tie him to a chair for you, okay?” He flipped the microphone between his fingers. “You’ve totally earned that.”

* * *

Kevin wasn’t so deep into his funk that he couldn’t tell that something was up. The whole school seemed alight with a buzz, whispers arcing from student to student like lightning bolts. Since his so-called friends at Freedom were still ignoring him, Kevin slunk over to where Selena and Demi had lockers side by side. “Hey,” he said, a little sheepishly. They were both in the year below him, and Kevin rarely spoke to them outside of church, and even only then because his mother was always dragging Joe and Nick over to talk to them, which meant that Kevin had to go too.

Selena looked a little surprised to see him, but Demi welcomed him with a warm smile. “Hey, Kevin,” she said happily.

“And look,” Sel added sarcastically. “He’s talking to us and it’s not even a Sunday.”

Kevin winced as Demi poked Selena in the ribs, glaring at her. “We were just talking about Radio Freedom,” Demi said pointedly. “Did you used to listen?”

Kevin swallowed, hard. “Yeah,” he managed to splutter out. “I caught a broadcast or two. Before, y’know....”

Demi ferreted around in her locked and pulled out a crumpled piece of coloured paper. “Well, it looks like they’re back.” She held out the paper, and Kevin took it slowly, barely hearing her as she twittered on. “I swear, the cops are going to murder all of them when they catch them.”

“Because the cops around here do that,” Selena said sarcastically.

“Arrest, throw in a cell and lose the key, whatever,” Demi shot back.

Kevin stared at the flier. Gee’s artwork was as good as a signature, and Kevin recognized Pete’s style in the text. Freedom was going to broadcast on Saturday. They were doing a fundraiser, collecting coins and donations to keep the station running. There were all the details on how the drive was going to work, but Kevin couldn’t keep his eyes off that first line.

Freedom was going to broadcast on Saturday.

Freedom was going to broadcast without him.

* * *

Kevin paced around the house, fidgeting, heading for the door only to baulk at the last second to go back to wearing a hole out on the rug. The clock in the hall chimed seven thirty.

In half an hour, Freedom was going to resume broadcasting -- fuck knows how without a transmitter -- and still no one had said anything to him.

Kevin took a deep breath and nodded firmly to himself. Right. He’d go down there and find them and...and...

He slumped against the back of the door. Firstly, he had no idea where the new broadcast location was, and secondly, he had no idea what he’d say to them even if he did.

‘Screw you,’ covered the main points, but didn’t seem to really carry the full _depth_ of what he was feeling.

The clock on the wall ticked, inching closer to the hour.

Kevin took a deep breath, feeling just... _tired_ , worn out and exhausted right down to his bones. The loneliness was a crushing weight, and not for the first time, Kevin wondered if the house would feel any different if he just stopped breathing.

He nearly leapt out of his skin as someone banged on the door, right behind his head. “Yo Kevin, quit your moping and open up!”

Kevin yanked open the door and glared at Pete, self-righteous fury suddenly bubbling up through every pore. But before Kevin could argue, Pete just grinned and grabbed his wrist, yanking him out onto the front step. “Come on,” he said, too loudly. “We’ve got one hell of a surprise for you.”

Kevin let the door slam shut behind him as Pete dragged him down to the car.

Bob and Greta were in the front seat, and Greta twisted around to smile at him as Pete bundled him into the back. “Hey,” she said, warmer than she’d sounded in days.

“Is this a kidnapping?” Kevin asked, trying to hold onto his anger.

“It’s an awesomenapping,” Pete declared, slamming the door shut after him. “Have we got a surprise for you.”

The anger started to melt away, and Kevin struggled to hold onto it. “A surprise?”

Greta reached through to the back and awkwardly petted his knee. “We’ve been working on it for weeks, I hope you like it.”

Kevin blinked. “So, we’re still....you’re _not_ ditching me...?” he spluttered out, feeling stupid and embarrassed.

“Pete,” Greta ordered. “Hug him stupid please.” Kevin _oophed_ as Pete gleefully complied. “Sorry we kind of cut you off there, but we had to keep this a surprise.”

“ _What’s_ a surprise?” Kevin asked, pushing Pete until he was only partially draped over him. “That Freedom’s back on the air?”

Greta grinned at him, teeth flashing white. “Oh honey,” she breathed. “You ain’t seen nothing yet.”

* * *

Mike paced the tiny space behind the board, back and forth, pausing at each side of the mezzanine to stare in abject horror at the microphone Patrick had rigged on a stand.

He could do this, he could do this, he could _totally_ do this.

Who the fuck was he kidding?

Struggling to get his breathing under control, Mike resumed pacing. He glanced at his wrist watch - ten to eight.

Ten minutes to get over his fear of public speaking, turn on his untested transmitter, and win Kevin back.

He could totally do this.

Mike resumed pacing.

* * *

Kevin watched, confused, as Bob drove them to the parking lot behind the furniture store. “What are we...?”

Pete smacked a kiss on his cheek. “Shut up and grab a bucket.”

Mystified, Kevin got out of the car slowly, watching as Pete and Greta plunged into the crowd, carrying little plastic buckets that looked like they had started life as ice cream containers. As Kevin scanned the crowd, he spotted a few other people carrying similar buckets. Mikey was passing out little booklets in exchange for bills, and Kevin even spotted William Beckett flirting with a cheerleader as he half-heartedly shook another bucket at the football team. “What’s going on?” Kevin asked Bob, who was lounging against the hood, lighting a cigarette.

“Just a little fundraising,” Bob said easily.

“Fundraising,” Kevin said flatly.

Bob blew out a thin plume of smoke that etched curliques in the cool night air. “Your boy has some good ideas, but we needed some cash to make them happen.”

“My boy?” Kevin asked, confused.

Around them a cheer went up. “Must be time,” Bob said in that same calm tone he used for everything. Holding his cigarette away with one hand, he leaned back through the open door and flicked on the car stereo.

Music was playing, a guitar riff that Kevin didn’t recognize.

“Hey there,” Patrick’s voice purred over the speakers. “It’s DJ PS, with special guest, MC, broadcasting to you live for one special show.”

MC? “No way,” Kevin breathed, a dozen separate emotions slamming together all at once. He leaned against the car for support, staring at the glowing face of the stereo.

“For those not in the know, MC is the man who made us our new transmitter. Though when I say us, I think he means one of us in particular.” There was an awkward pause. “Dude, this is where you say something.”

“Uh, hi,” Mike said, sounding stupidly uncomfortable. “Umm, this first song is, ah, from a band we both love.” There was a crackle, and a barely audible whisper. “Oh yeah, it’s _Emma_ by Alkaline Trio.”

Kevin covered his mouth with his hand as the music started. “Bob?”

“Yeah kid,” Bob said evenly, his eyes twinkling wickedly.

“Take me to the station, please.”

* * *

Mike thought he was going to throw up. “Oh shit,” he hissed through clenched teeth as the music started to play. He braced himself against the desk for support and tried to get air into his lungs.

All he could think about was how many people just heard him make an abject fool of himself.

Patrick punched his arm lightly. “Hey, come on, you’re doing great.” He leaned back in his chair to look past Mike’s shoulders. “And seriously, could you guys be any louder out there?”

Victoria laughed and flipped him off, but she pulled back from where she had been leaning over the mezzanine, holding back the thick curtain they had rigged up. “Shut the fuck up, we’re having an awesome party here.” She shrugged. “And by we, I mean of course Gabe, Nate, Ry, Alex and I.” She sniggered. “We are the definition of an awesome party.”

Patrick scowled. “Well, take it downstairs or something, I’m sure we’re getting echo feedback.”

Mike didn’t let himself look up as they bickered. “Any word from Frank?” he interrupted them suddenly, keeping his head down. Were his knuckles normally that white?

“So far, all clear. I don’t think the cops even know we’re back on the air yet,” she said, coming over. Her hand was warm as she gently rubbed his neck for a moment. “You’re doing great,” she added more sincerely. “Keep going.”

Mike nodded and took a deep breath as the counter on the CD player ticked down to zero. “That was _Emma_ by Alkaline Trio, and you’re listening to Radio Freedom.” His mouth felt dry and his voice sounded shaky, even to his own ears.

Patrick cut in. “Remember kids, dig deep. Radio Freedom needs your pocket money to stay on the air. Hoarding your spare change like a dragon in a lair makes Freedom go bye-bye.” As Patrick chatted away happily, Mike pulled out the CD he had searched the collections for. He slotted it into the drive and picked the track.

“Here’s our next track,” Patrick said, gesturing emphatically at the microphone.

“Ah, it’s Nightmare of You, _My Name Is Trouble_ ,” Mike stuttered out as he stabbed play.

Next to him, Patrick shook his head, hand over his eyes.

* * *

Bob didn’t wait for Greta and Pete to get back, just turned over the engine as Kevin scooted into the passenger seat. Neither of them spoke as the song wound down and Patrick came back on the air.

“Did anyone even give Mike a crash course in how to announce?” Kevin asked. Bob just shrugged, tapping along to the beat, and Kevin wondered how much of this they had planned. “Hey, wait, that’s...”

He knew Bob was watching him out of the corner of his eye, but Kevin couldn’t, couldn’t stop the slow smile that was creeping over his face. He turned to watch the town roll by as he hummed along. _”I want to kiss you on the mouth and tell you I’m your biggest fan...._

The song was still playing as Bob pulled up in front of Gabe’s. Kevin blinked and turned to Bob, the question on his lips.

“Yes,” Bob confirmed with a teasing roll of his eyes. “They’re in there, upstairs.” He poked Kevin’s shoulder. “He rebuilt the radio station, just for you. So maybe give him the benefit of the doubt, hey?”

Kevin blinked, turned, and scrambled out of the car and across the pavement into the record store as the track wound down.

* * *

Mike put Kevin’s mix CD in the drive as Patrick back-announced the track and made another plea for donations -- he figured as long as he could stay focused on the technical, he could trick himself into talking on air without hyperventilating.

He hit play at Patrick’s gesture, sighing as he sat back, running his fingers through his hair. “I really, _really_ hope this works.”

They both turned at Victoria’s low chuckle. “I’d say it was a success,” she said, leaning against the door frame. “Given that the boy of the hour just ran in through the front door.”

Mike was up out of his seat and past her in a flash. Her laughter followed him down the narrow stairs.

Kevin met him on the bottom step. “Mike!”

“Kevin,” Mike babbled right over the top. He reached out instinctively, grabbing Kevin’s hands like he might disappear again. “Listen, you’ve gotta believe me, I didn’t, I would never sell you out, I know how important Freedom is to you and....”

Kevin slipped his hand free to lay a finger of Mike’s lips. “You built me a radio station?” he asked quietly, voice full of wonder.

Mike nodded slowly, feeling Kevin’s finger slip lightly down his chin. “It was important to you,” he said dumbly, a little unsure what else to say. He didn’t want to screw up and do anything that might stop Kevin smiling at him like that.

“You built me a radio station,” Kevin repeated, shifting the inflection like he was exploring the idea from all angles, looking for the catch.

“It was important to you,” Mike said again, chancing it to cup his free hand along Kevin’s jaw. “And you’re important to me,” he managed to get out.

Kevin lit up. Blue.

They both turned as the flashing lights of a police cruiser pulled up out the front of the record store. Kevin squeezed Mike’s hand as they heard the clatter of boots running across the pavement and then the door was kicked open.

The next half hour passed in a blur as everyone was marched out to sit on the floor by the cash register, Gabe arguing all the way about trespass rights and licenses and stuff.

“He’s about two seconds from ranting about ‘those damn kids,’ isn’t he?” Mike whispered sideways as they watched Gabe argue with the officer.

Kevin snorted under his breath. “But - license?” he whispered back to Mike, wiggling as he tried to get into a more comfortable position. Handcuffing them all seemed pretty extreme.

Mike grinned. “I told you I have awesome ideas. Freedom now has a license to broadcast.” He nodded his head to the cops. “Imagine how bad the shit is gonna hit the fan when they realize they’ve just conducted an illegal search and seizure. On a bunch of minors, no less.” Kevin stared at him, and Mike shrugged under the intense scrutiny. “Hey, yeah, well, it turns out Pete’s dad is pretty cool, for a lawyer.”

Kevin smiled at him. “I think I might be a little bit in love with you right now.”

“Only a bit? Ha!” Victoria cat-called from where she was sitting on the other side of Mike.

Kevin grinned, blushing a little. “Also,” he added more quietly. “I’m sorry. For not giving you the benefit of the doubt. For not trusting you. I...I was wrong, and I’m really sorry.”

Mike felt something deep inside him unknot. “I--”

“Hey!” The officer who had handcuffed then held his cell phone on his shoulder as he glared at them. “Just shut up until we get your parents down here, okay?”

Kevin smiled at Mike, who smiled back. “Looks like they’re going to have to deal with you after all,” Mike whispered. “Sorry.”

Kevin made a face, but shrugged. “Hey, I was merely in the same room as a perfectly legal radio station.” He shrugged again and smiled brightly. “Made for me by my boyfriend.”

Ignoring the police, the way his handcuffs were pulling against his shoulders, and Victoria’s wolf-whistle, Mike leaned in, meeting Kevin half-way for a kiss.

~EPILOGUE~

Mike’s mix CD clicked over to the next track, and Kevin hummed against Mike’s lips, making his toes curl. “I really,” he muttered between kisses. “Should be back-announcing these.”

Mike just settled himself more comfortable across Kevin’s lap. “May as well get a few then,” he muttered as he nuzzled up against Kevin’s cheek, catching his breath. “Make a list, make it worth your while.”

Kevin chuckled as he tightened his hold on Mike’s hips. “Excellent ideas like that,” he panted into Mike’s ear. “Are why you’re the producer and I’m just the humble DJ.”

Mike growled and showed Kevin a few of his other ideas.

Fortunately, the CD was set to loop.

~FIN~


End file.
